


Karma is a witch

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, And Semi deserves better, M/M, Oikawa just wants to be Uncle of the Year, Suga is a smol angry child, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12908682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: "Oh. My. God." Oikawa deadpans."Don’t." the child in front of Oikawa warns, holding up a chubby finger. "Say. Anything."





	Karma is a witch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FairyLights101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/gifts).



"… well, fu-," is all Oikawa hears before there’s a loud pop and a plume of plum-colored smoke from across the room.

 

Or, more specifically, across the room where his boyfriend had been standing two seconds ago.

 

The interruption had cut off what had been a steady, soft stream of Latin, familiar and comforting against Oikawa’s ears, and now the silence is only broken by a fit of coughing from the same location of the purple cloud that hovers ominously in the air.

 

"Kou?" Oikawa calls out, setting the candy-colored vials he had been organizing to the side on the black marble table he’s perched at, squinting to see through the haze. He nudges his tortoiseshell glasses higher up the bridge of his nose with the tip of an index finger.

 

The lamps situated at odd intervals around the room had been turned down a few hours earlier by Suga, who claimed he couldn’t practice his magic properly in bright fluorescents. It throws the entire basement into a half-world of mellow, honey-colored light that pools thickly across the stone floor and outlines the curling tips and tendrils of the various plants they have growing from every spare surface, painting emerald and sapphire and rose with gold.

 

It also makes it very hard to see properly, even when the smoke - which smells strangely like cardamom - clears a little.

 

"Fucking hell," Oikawa hears Suga curse. His voice emanates strangely from the opposite side of the basement, sounds tinny and off and oddly youthful, higher-pitched and softer.

 

Oikawa stands up, his stool screeching behind him, circles the table and brushes past a few hanging bundles of heavyweight wisteria until he’s closer to the center of the room.

 

"Koushi," he says again, shivering because the floor is cold against his bare feet and he’s only wearing a thin, worn t-shirt and sweatpants, waving a hand through the air to clear some of the fog.

 

It’s a normal Friday night. The two of them, tucked away down in the basement of the tiny coffee shop they co-own, taking some time in their busy schedules to fall back into the magic they’ve both grown up with, the magic that runs through their blood and links them to the long, rich history of witchcraft that lingers deep down in their bones.

 

The winter solstice is coming up, a few weeks away now, and both Oikawa and Suga have been working tirelessly to prepare for the celebrations, to bring their own gifts to the annual gathering.

 

Oikawa knows that Suga prefers the summer solstice, the bonfires and the dancing and splashing out into the ocean, giddy with laugher, sand in his hair and saltwater on his lips when Oikawa kisses him and drags him under the waves.

 

But Oikawa personally prefers winter solstice, loves wandering the forest as the sun sinks below the horizon in a fiery explosion, smelling the cloves and apples that are stacked around the fires with careful precision, the sharp, fresh scent of the piles of evergreen boughs, adores the beautiful, curling vines of ivy that decorate the houses and the bundles of mistletoe that hang from bright red strings.

 

There have been a few mishaps along the way in the past few weeks of preparation, little accidental mispronunciations in spells, or an ingredient measured out wrong by half a teaspoon, done in the rush of things, but they had been easy to fix, nothing major.

 

But this… the smoke is taking longer to clear than usual and Suga sounds _weird_ and Oikawa is a little concerned at this point.

 

"Babe," Oikawa says, sidestepping the mismatched pots of honeysuckle, their ivory petals stretching up to the ceiling, and wading farther into the haze. He’s getting close enough to finally make out the faint glint of starlight hair, although it seems a little too low to the ground, as if Suga is sitting on the flagstone. "What happened? Did you use too much rosewater again? You know it does funny things to the-"

 

Oikawa meets very familiar hazel eyes before he can finish his sentence, glaring up at him through thick lashes- about _three and a half feet_ off the ground. 

 

"Oh. My. God." Oikawa deadpans.

 

"Don’t." the _child_ in front of Oikawa warns, holding up a chubby finger. "Say. Anything."

 

Oikawa blinks and stares, tries furiously to ignore the steadily building fizz of laughter that’s swelling in his chest, keeps his face completely straight.

 

Suga has somehow reverted back to being five years old - well, _physically_ at least. 

 

That’s the only explanation for the tiny human being in front of Oikawa. The tiny human being that has Suga’s doe eyes and his star fire hair and that dangerous glint in his eyes when he’s angry.

 

"I said, don’t _say anything_ ," Suga growls, his voice that of a child’s and yet still just as intimidating, and the ridiculous combination causes Oikawa’s facade to slip a little, a grin barely tilting his lips up as he desperately struggles to hold onto his composure.

 

"I didn’t," he defends half-heartedly, clamping his lips closed again, hysteria bubbling up the back of his throat when Suga’s large eyes narrow further, plump cheeks giving him the air of a very pissed off cherub.

 

"I can see it on your face," Suga complains, little hands curling into adorable fists at his sides. "You want to laugh."

 

"Hmmm," Oikawa hums because if he opens his mouth to speak, it’ll be over. He presses his lips harder together as the shit-eating grin that threatens to break out over his face grows stronger.

 

Suga pouts, silver hair, that looks so soft and curves in gentle curls around his ears, falling into his eyes, that unmistakable beauty mark that paints his skin just visible in this lighting.

 

He looks like one of the pretty dolls Takeru loves to play with, Oikawa thinks vaguely. And then he can’t help but grin because this is _Suga_ , his strong, gorgeous boyfriend who - more than Oikawa likes to admit - can beat him in arm wrestling without batting an eyelash, for God’s sake. Not some play doll with miniature clothes and porcelain parts and glassy eyes. 

 

Speaking of clothes, somehow Suga’s have shrunk to fit him, cladding him in child-size dark-wash jeans and a bright yellow hoodie, even little socks.

 

Oikawa’s smile widens.

 

"Shut up!" Suga yells in his tiny, little baby voice even though Oikawa hasn’t breathed a word.

 

He’s actually very proud of himself for how well he’s kept his composure so far, but when Suga stomps his foot in an absolutely perfect rendition of a child throwing a tantrum, Oikawa can’t help it.

 

He loses it. Starts laughing so hard he can’t breathe within seconds, eyes tearing up, both hands clutching at his ribs.

 

"Oh my God," Oikawa gasps out. "Kou, babe, what the _fuck_ -"

 

Suga kicks him.

 

Just walks straight up to Oikawa, the top of his head barely reaching Oikawa’s thighs, and kicks him straight in the right shin with one small foot.

 

" _Ow_ ," Oikawa whines, laughter dying down immediately, different tears welling up in his eyes.

 

"Do it again," Suga says calmly, smiling sweetly up at Oikawa with his head tilted all of the way back, "and I’ll be sure to aim a little higher next time."

 

Oikawa crinkles his nose in a pout.

 

He’s never been this torn between wanting to kick Suga back and coo over how absolutely, perfectly adorable he is with his rosy cheeks and shining eyes and soft, little baby voice - even if his boyfriend is currently threatening to take a very low road.

 

It’s like Oikawa simultaneously wants to sit on Suga and wrap him in a blanket burrito to cuddle on the couch upstairs.

 

"Sorry," Oikawa settles on mumbling, eyeing Suga’s tiny fingers warily and wondering if his hands would still pack as much of a punch as they usually do.

 

Suga hums, still grinning with spine-tingling intensity, lips curved with saccharine falsity.

 

Oikawa wants to pinch his cheeks.

 

"Now," Suga says, voice dripping honey, "you’re going to have to drive me to Semi’s so I can fix this."

 

Oikawa wonders what Semi is going to say when they see Suga. He can already see the scowl on their face, the irritated tapping of flawless, black-painted nails on the translucent glass countertop in their kitchen, surrounded by their herbs and chunks of crystal and sparkling, sparking balls of witch light that they had enchanted to hover at various heights in the air.

 

Honestly, Oikawa isn’t sure when Semi sleeps. They’re always up and about, responsible for helping the other witches in the community with spells and potions gone wrong, their gorgeous Egyptian Mau constantly perched on one of their shoulders, all glowing bright eyes and glossy, dark fur.

 

He knows they always manage to find the solution to everyone’s problems though, despite the sleep deprivation. Turning Suga back will probably be a cinch, even if it might be a bit tedious.

 

Oikawa smirks. Imagining Suga trying to drive with those chubby, short legs is incredibly amusing and Oikawa isn’t feeling very sympathetic at the moment, not when Suga practically asked for trouble with that kick.

 

The ache in Oikawa’s shin only makes his grin more wicked, the edges of his mouth curling up slyly.

 

" _Or_ ," Oikawa hums thoughtfully, backing up away from Suga as he speaks, tapping an index finger agains his chin mockingly, "I could keep you like this until Takeru’s birthday passes next week. I’m sure he’d _love_ a real-life, walking, talking doll that looks just like his beloved Uncle Koushi for a day. I’d be the uncle of the year-"

 

Oikawa breaks off with a half-laugh, half-screech as child-Suga, whose face is a lovely shade of cerise now, eyebrows pulled together in a scowl, charges him, whirling around to sprint up the stairs that lead to the coffeeshop, ducking on instinct as a vial of violet, powdered wolfsbane mixed with honey sails past his head a half-second later.

 

He doesn’t get very far.

 

 

 

Needless to say, Oikawa ends up driving Suga to Semi’s, a pack of frozen pees clutched between his legs with one hand while he drives with the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, and you can bet your sweet ass that Suga also manages to wrangle Oikawa into a pink, frilly dress complete with an overabundance of lace and glossy, satin ribbons and steals the Uncle of the Year title at Takeru’s birthday party.
> 
> [magical link to my blog](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


End file.
